Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Tuesday Teaser

This past weekend I spent a few days with other authors and a great bunch of fans.

I also met a few cover models. Nice guys who are breaking into the business and have other careers as well.

I met one man in particular that inspired a new title I'm working on. I'm still writing Cassie and Justin's story. I haven't given that up. And you can see them again this weekend on Storyboard Saturday.

I'm also continuing my paranormal on Sunday blog hop with wewriwa. That story has changed to incorporate aspects of a paranormal family. That idea came to me about a year ago, but I couldn't make it work. Driving to the conference this past weekend fleshed it all out. I'll be branching out to YA with this as well. Publishing under a different name, along with the adult romance. More later.

An avid fan ran up to the cover model and wanted to know just how undressed he'd be during book signing. My PA friend indicated from the waist up.
Image result for boxer briefs
The fan scanned her hand quite lower, wanting to see much more. The words boxer shorts and boots popped into my head. I mentioned this to the cover model and he chimed in boxer briefs, an image of him in cottony soft underwear rushed into my head, My gaze took in his narrow waist, washboard abs, (I knew they were without seeing them because I'd already had my hand wrapped around his rock solid upper arm). The title clicked.
It stayed with me the rest of the day. I came home wrote down the title and then just this morning the story fell into place.

More next week.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Weekend Writing Warriors - 8 Snippet Sunday

Good morning/afternoon readers and bloggers. I am excited to be a part of a group of talented writers wewriwa.

Wewriwa  is a blog hop. When I found this, I noticed several authors that I've read their works. It was quite thrilling to be put in this company.

Please stop by wewriwa and view other author's works. Comment, praise and share. We love our readers. Your participation is greatly appreciated.

I'm continuing my WIP shapeshifter story. Here's a little background if this is your first time to join.

Please note: I'm writing this each week, so names do change.

Cheyenne is a vibrant fifty year old who is a fated mate to Braden, alpha of the Cane Creek pack. The twist is her past, her husband, a much older man has just died, and if she hadn't traveled through Cane Creek, going back and forth from the hospital, the two would never have met.

She's in mourning, and while Braden understands, he won't let her mourn for long.

Here's this week's 8.

   Cheyenne’s body automatically jerked at the sound reverberating through her mind and body and vehicle; the wheel veered off the shoulder, tires spraying gravel several feet before re gaining control of the car and pulling back onto the road. 
   The creek, to her right, ran parallel to the asphalt, hugging it so close, at times it seemed the road dipped into the water’s edge. If she were passing through a normal small town, the well-lit area just ahead, would be a welcoming sight on an otherwise dark and lonely road. It wasn’t.
   Don’t stop. Keep driving. You can make it home, she chanted in her head. 
   But her lids lowered, of their own volition, over dry, gritty eyes that had happened too often in the last hour to count. 

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Storyboard Saturday - Cassandra

Our characters are what make the story. Now, I know that I'm preaching to the choir here, but when the characters are silent, and the author gets in the way, then trouble arises. 

This past week I had to go back and re-edit areas like that. It isn't that I don't know my character. I've completed a few analyses on them; and this was the first novel I wrote several years ago, so I've had time to really understand them. 

But, I didn't. 
And, they weren't talking. 

Well just the last two days, it was like a dam burst. And now, we're both coming together.

And I readily admit, I was the problem. 

You see, I put too much of my own personality into the story. I don't use the G word, and never the GD word. My characters haven't felt the need, but I limited them. Once I loosened the reins; it's all coming together. 

I'd like for Cassie to tell you her story.

Cassie would you mind telling the audience your full name?

Hi everyone. Aine, thanks for having me today and telling my story. May I give a little history about me as well? 

Absolutely, Cassie. That just allows us to get to the good part sooner. 

Uh, huh. Maybe I should hold off, I know you. And I'm not sure I want all my secrets made public. Anyway. I am the second daughter of Rebecca and Ted Tierney. I have one sibling, Raegan, she's older than my by ten years. She's the creative one, plays piano and violin and can design a room or pull together a party with minimal effort, and in a short amount of time. 

Sounds like a nice family. 

We were. I mean Rae and I still are, but my parents were killed in a car accident five years ago, which, now that I think about it, actually began the rest of my story. 

Do tell.

In good time Aine. I know you can't wait, but I want to tell it right. So, where was I. Yes, my name. My parents named me Cassandra Breland Tierney. And, I look completely different than anyone in my family. 

How so.

My mother had black hair and pale skin. My father's Irish heritage gave him red hair. My older sister is a combination of the two. But, I take after my paternal grandmother, somewhat. She was tall like me and a Black foot Indian. 

But your hair is quite blonde and you have hazel eyes. 

Uhmm. That's where we differ.

It was her and dad's love of horse that I inherited as well. 

So, you own a horse farm. 

Yes, that's putting it mildly. 

How would you put it. 

No. I agree with you, but the media, and my peers, well, they would argue with you. 

How so? 

We've had one Triple Crown and Breeders's cup winner in the last seven years. And two major wins, one the Preakness and the other Belmont Stakes.  

That's quite an accomplishment. 

Yes, it is. It all began when my father went to Ireland and purchased Sultan for me for my nineteenth birthday. 

An image of Justin descending the stairs, shirtless popped in her head. Fanning her flaming cheeks, Cassie remembered he was one heck of a man. Remembering being in his arms just days ago, he still felt good. Yeah, he’s bulked up a little.
Cassie pushed away from the desk, leaned back in her chair, and examined their past. Images of her body molded to his slow dancing right after Sultan won the Preakness his fingers caressing her back, his lips trailing fire across her temple. Her hardened nipples straining against the thin fabric of her dress, suddenly feeling his palm cupping her buttock, pulling her into his steely erection; if her father hadn’t called Justin over to meet friends, they would have become lovers that night. 
Shaking off other images of their flirtatious, rocky courtship, finally coming together in anger and desire the year after her parents died, and Justin’s abrupt departure, Cassie searched her mind calling up what she knew of his character.
They met seven years ago when her parents purchased Sultan for her nineteenth birthday. One look from Justin and all her future plans fell by the wayside. Oh, she had tried to stay away. He made her so angry treating her like a child. He may have kept his distance, but everywhere she turned he was there. Arms crossed leaning against the barn door, watching her groom. Sitting at the table, much like he did now, talking of horses and home. His fingers, circling her wrist or upper arm, pulling her into him as he calmly, but with a force of a hurricane, told her what he was going to do to her body.
A shiver of delight ran down her spine. Image after image of the five years they spent together, off and on bombarded her brain; she couldn’t separate fact from feelings.
Her gut told her Justin wasn’t the criminal. Until she had proof, one way or the other, she’d keep her eye on him? Whoa, back up girl, so not happening. Remember what happened at the lake and in the truck and in the library… crap. Cassie dropped her head to her chest. I’m screwed. 

Wow. You two have been through a lot. 

There's more to come. 

Do tell. 

All in good time Aine. See you next week. 

Hey, that's my line. 

Hah. Sorry girl, I just couldn't resist. 

Yeah, yeah. 

You know you love me. 

I do. That's why you'll be back next week. 

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Weekend Writing Warriors - #8Snippet Sunday

Good morning/afternoon readers and bloggers. I am excited to be a part of a group of talented writers. Wewriwa is a blog hop. When I found this, I noticed several authors that I've read their works. It was quite thrilling to be put in this company.

Please stop by wewriwa and view other author's works. Comment, praise and share. We love our readers. Your participation is greatly appreciated.

I've been going through a shapeshifter story, a wip, that I'm basically writing each week. I've gone ahead more than the few 8 sentences I've posted each week, but I on't want to get to far ahead. I've been struggling with the female lead's dilemma. I believe I've worked it out. Please give me some feedback to see if this works.

Struggling against bone tiredness and the overwhelming pull to stop the car and let his calming power envelop her, Cheyenne forced herself to drive on through the dark night. Just a little longer, no more than a half hour and you’ll be home, she assured herself.
Shadows shifted in the mist, hugging the water’s edge to her right. She dare not let her gaze linger for fear that she'd see more than a few passing glowing eyes. Fixing her stare straight ahead, soon her gaze was drawn to the haze, barely penetrating the fog, up in the distance.
“Dammit.” As the car sped on she knew the faint light would grow and finally brighten like a beacon in an inky sky. The dim photocell streetlight signaling she'd come upon the CC Pub.

Suddenly all the pent up energy depleted from her body as his deep, soothing voice echoed through her head, Welcome to my territory, love.

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Story board Saturday - Justin

This week I'd like to introduce you to Justin Barclay the main male lead. He's Irish, tall long black hair and grey eyes. In his youth, and if this were an historical romance, he'd be somewhat of a rake. And why not, the man is too good looking, oozes confidence, and took one look at the main female lead and gave up his heart without a fight.

But he has no problem fighting for Cassie. Well, now that he's older and wiser and she's in trouble.

Chapter two excerpt:

Justin’s deep throated laugh caused more than a few heads to turn. Gasps and whispers and grumbles floated his way. Some were female admiration for his dark good looks, which in the past he would have played up and immediately taken advantage of. Others muttered in anger and disbelief.
No doubt wondering at his audacity for showing his face at Briar again.
Justin ignored them all. He only had eyes for the woman who
bolted into the forest, as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.
Just before dawn he had driven through the east gate, parking his rental at the old racecourse, unloaded the horse, riding the perimeter of Briar, looking for ways to breach it. His jaw clenched again at finding the gate unlocked, no surveillance, and most of all no challenge to his right to be there. Damn, he found too many for his liking.
Justin stared at the empty spot where Cassie had been moments ago. She was going to have a devil of a time explaining why she kept Briar’s troubles to herself when she returned. Pulling the reins tight, he looked over the crowd before turning Winchester, the bay, toward the three-stall barn, sitting in a shallow hollow just below Briar’s immense lawn.
Anger rode with him. An all too familiar feeling this past month. One thought had fueled his purpose as he rode toward Briar. Confront Cassie. Like now, he never got the chance. Vehicle after vehicle had driven onto the property, unloading horses, cantering up the hill to mingle on her front lawn.
She’s out of her bleedin’ skull. A party for all her feckin’ rich friends. With a criminal on the loose to boot?
It took the strength his da had instilled in him not to barge into Briar and demand she send them away, then explain why she hadn’t contacted him sooner.

Soon, though, he realized he’d been handed a golden opportunity. If he was a betting man, and any good horseman was, he’d say the criminal was walking around Briar Ridge as if he belonged there.

Sunday, April 5, 2015

Weekend Writing Warriors - Week 2 #8Snippet Sunday

Happy Easter!

I am excited to be a part of a group of talented writers. Wewriwa is a blog hop. When I found this, I noticed several authors that I've read their works. It was quite thrilling to be put in this company.

I hope you enjoy this excerpt and please stop by wewriwa and view other author's works. Your participation is greatly appreciated.

This week, I'm continuing with my wip shapeshifter story. I enjoy several author's books, One of the latest authors has one of the shapeshifters dying. It got me to thinking what would my shapeshifter be like since he's been waiting for this woman for several years now. It's something I'm going to have to think on.

Again, this story is about a vibrant fifty year old woman whose older husband has just died. The local shapeshifter caught her scent as his fated mate. He's been biding his time, but now that the way is clear, he's ready for her to come to him.

...she'd miscalculated.
  She’d left Nashville later than planned. She should have stayed, but it had been months since she’d been home for more than a day or two and she was anxious to get back there now. 
  To her home and bed.
  Her exhausted brain had pushed him into the recesses of her mind. Searching the narrow winding road and beyond the meager headlights; he was out there, waiting for her.
  She should have realized the itch at the base of her brain as she turned off the interstate was her body telling her she could feel him. 
Rounding another curve and descending into the hollow, she didn’t need sight to tell her that she’d past the invisible border of Cedar Creek Community, it slammed into her like a mac truck hitting a Prius. 

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Story Board Saturday

This week I am skipping ahead just a little to a section that is near and dear to me. And, funny to boot. This scene actually happened.

Let me give you the short version. Years ago, we bought a farm. Now we already have one, but this farm had two-three hundred acres. We put our house up for sale and my husband spent afternoons and weekends clearing, fencing, and cross-fencing this land.
Note: His love of farming inspired this story.
Anyway, the man we purchased the farm from, still lived on the property. His small home sat behind the creek up against a bluff on the right side of the road. Across the road sitting behind a cluster of trees was an old house. It had been abandoned for years. A few hundred yards before the house was a cemetery and beyond the house was open field and woods. 

One Saturday evening well after supper the phone rings. It was Mr. Johnson, the man who sold us the farm. All I heard was, "yeah, okay. I'll be right down."

My Guy proceeds to get his jeans and boots on and drives down to the farm. All the while, I'm left wondering what's going on. Could cows be out? Could there be dogs chasing the herd? Lots of scenarios, except the one tale he came home with. 

Mr. Johnson, per my husband's dialogue, said, "You need to keep a closer eye on the wild going's on around here." Well, that piqued my curiosity. And by this time my guy is laughing so hard, I can barely understand what he's saying. 

He proceeds to laugh and stutter through telling me that a menage was taking place in the old house, and the woman ran naked from the building, screaming at the top of her lungs, "it licked me on the ass," with her two guys running after her. 

It seemed a cow found its way into the house and joined in on the fun. 

Below is my version. I've edited out some unnecessary parts.

Looking back on it now, she let out a small laugh. If she hadn’t been so hopeful, and then so despondent that night when it turned out to be a false alarm, she would have appreciated the hilarity of it all.
The unsuspecting trio had invaded Briar on the heels of another mess. ...
When the sheriff called at three a.m., she and Justin rode to a scene right out of Abbot and Costello, a vaudeville comedy duo turned movie stars from the late 1930’s and early ’40’s that her grandmother had sworn were the most talented men of their time.
The unspoken message that it was over and Justin could go home was like Uncle Billy wedging his three-thousand pound prized bull between them inside the cab of the truck. Suffocating and debilitating.
A cacophony of high-pitched, fast-talking and barely discernable voices met them as they alighted from the vehicle. Cassie didn’t know where to look first. Katrina Sanders, one of her oldest friends, stood near the sheriff in only a half-buttoned shirt. Cassie gawked at two men a few feet away, standing in front of a patrol car hands cuffed behind them wearing only boxer briefs. The ground around them was littered with clothes.
Her gaze swung toward deputy Suggs who was…shirtless? Cassie gaped at Kat. Oh. That was where the deputy's shirt was.
“I’m bleedin’.” And then it was all Cassie could do to try and keep up.
“Kat, honey, you’re not.”
“But, it’s sticky and it hurts. I’m sure it’s blood.” She waved her hand in the general area of her barely concealed buttocks.
“Babe,” deputy Suggs rubbed Kat’s arms. “I promise, you’re fine, but I’ll …”
“Suggs, the report.” Sheriff Barnes barked.
“But Sheriff.”
“I saw this… thing with wings behind it come flying at me out of the dark. Da…darn near ran over it before I realized it was Katrina.”
“I thought it was that dude, you know.” Katrina turned to the sheriff, adding her own story to the mix. “Catch him. He’s a serial killer, has knives and claws.” Kat sobbed, a hiccup cutting off her words.
“Katrina. No one’s been hurt…”
 “I have... Well...” she shifted from one foot to the other, “it was rough, scratching and scraping...”
“Ms. Sanders, please let deputy Suggs explain.” Exasperation in the sheriff’s voice mimicked Cassie’s mood.
“Fine.” She turned in a huff from the men only to catch Cassie and Justin gaping at them. Dazed, Cassie managed a meager finger wave when Katrina raised her hand trying to call them over.
 “We thought she was shot by the way she was screamin’. She never screamed like that when we…” the male voice muttered, trailing off, obviously daring not to finish his comment to the female officer.

More later. 

Friday, April 3, 2015

Breaking the Mold

I've had very few loves in my life. But the ones I do have are intense.

I love men. I have a type, but as long as a man shows that he really cares and listens and we can communicate with one another, I'm hooked.

I love my husband and son, my step-daughters and their children. They are what gets me through each day.

I love good times with my family. And to extend that I love food.

Food and I have had a love affair since I was a child. Standing in my mother's kitchen soaking up all the wonderful smells, she'd spent hours creating.

Working side by side with her as a teen, I learned to cook, was taught family recipes, and realized as the years went on, my love for my mother grew to more than mother daughter; she became my best friend.

We began traditions together, and now I carry on without her. But my romance with food extends beyond what my mother taught me. If she had beat cancer, she would have changed our holiday menus.

You see, my mother had a love for good food as well. We told stories with our cooking and baking. She was so much better than I. I was her sous chef, and that woman wouldn't make an item until she knew the recipe inside and out.

I'm more of a pinch here, dash there kind of woman. But, I did learn her love for backing, and I work hard to follow the recipe to get it right.

I'm sorry, I'm going on about my mom, whom I love dearly, though she's no longer here, and meant to talk about Easter dinner. I'll get on with my story.

I get to make Easter dinner. And I'm sorry to offend my southern roots, but ham, potato salad, baked beans, and green bean casserole are not on the menu.

When it's time to put together a holiday menu, I look for new recipes. The internet is a great place, and I've become a food Pinterest addict. It has it all at my fingertips.

And boards with names like food porn, food pornage, food romance, food romantic, food love, food lovers, the list goes on; I'm in good company with those who associate love with food.

I planned our menu of cheesy mashed potatoes, salad, deviled eggs, fried apples and rolls around another pork staple. Pork loin. I am a pork lover. I fell in love with Emeril Lagasse's phrase; pork fat rules. It does here, and I'm not ashamed to say it.

Anyway, I could stuff the loin, or cover it with herbs or wrap it or all of the above. I've chosen to cover it with mustard and herbs and wrap it in balsamic and molasses marinated bacon.

But, it's dessert I want to share with you today. I debated on a version of banana pudding with white chocolate and sugar cookies. Then I thought about a strawberry cake with strawberry cream cheese icing.

But as I searched, I kept getting dessert images of raspberries, and I knew that was the dessert for us.

Raspberry White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Trifle.  The picture below is a little different, no almonds, but it's going to look like this.

Layers of white chocolate macadamia nut blodies, cream cheese white chocolate pudding, whipping cream (real whipping cream) and raspberries.

Boxer Briefs & Boots

Hello, everyone. The last few years have been difficult. With the death of my husband came many responsibilities. Some I was ready for. Many...